


Day’s End

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Mary I of England: Truth, the daughter of time [10]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Ficlet, Gen, Historically Accurate, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: 1534.Mary lies curled up on her small pallet.Oneshot.





	Day’s End

**1534**

Mary lies curled up on her small pallet. Her head throbs, her stomach aches. She has not had any food all day except the bread for mass early in the morning, and her body is now paying the price for a full day’s work on little sustenance. If Anne intends to starve Mary into the Great Hall, she would rather waste away until she is skin and bones and finally collapses than give way.

Her monthly courses started today, and painfully. The tonics the physicians prescribe are of no use, and she does not think they would dare to deny a King’s daughter proper medicine, so that means there truly is no cure for the cramps that have her curled up on her small pallet, one hand clamped over her stomach and the other on her back, massaging her protesting womb.

More than anything, she wants to sleep. Prayer and sleep are her two refuges now; for up to eight hours, she commits no blunders, is nobody at all. If only this vessel would take the hint and simply let her wearied mind sink into oblivion. Never mind that on the morrow, she shall waken and nothing will have changed. _Sleep, sleep, sleep,_ her soul croons.

The door eases open, and someone sinks down onto the foot of her pallet. Her mother bends down and presses her lips to Mary’s forehead. Mary shifts closer to her, curling around her as though seeking to return to her womb. Gentle fingers brush through her hair, probing and massaging her scalp until the pounding pain in her skull dulls to a faint echo. Her mother’s ministrations continue, and do not stop long after all the aches have faded. 


End file.
